


I'll Be There For You

by afterafternoons



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: BOM Secret Santa, Brief Mention of Kevin's Assault, Developing Friendships, M/M, The title is a friends reference, bom secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21951022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterafternoons/pseuds/afterafternoons
Summary: Kevin isolates himself after a series of bad decisions and only after opening up to Kimbay, does she help him rebuild his relationships in Uganda from the ground up.
Relationships: Arnold Cunningham/Nabulungi Hatimbi, Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	I'll Be There For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sm1019](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sm1019/gifts).



Kevin Price will be the first to attest to the fact that when it rains, it pours. 

Kevin will also be the first to admit that his first mistake was leaving mission quarters after hours . . . and his second mistake was leaving Arnold . . . and his third mistake was thinking he could disarm the most banal evil with a couple lines of scripture and a smile . . . and, well, pretty much everything after that was a mistake too.

* * *

As far as Kevin can articulate, he’s been assaulted for his attempts in bringing the General to Christ . . . or vice versa. (He’s not entirely sound on the specifics, but he’d made an attempt, nonetheless.) Kevin’s never been of the mind to commit an evil act against another human being. Hell, the worst thing he’s done — worse than leaving Arnold or the mission quarters past 9 PM — was lie to his own father about a maple glazed donut, of all things, when he was five years old. So, this assault is unfathomable to him. He doesn’t know the right things to say, or the right words to use when he goes knocking on the door to Gotswana’s office. 

Mostly, Kevin’s quiet. He jumps when Gotswana first puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, quick to brush away the contact, and Gotswana understands the fear he’s feeling, better than Kevin could ever possibly convey. Numbly, Kevin changes into the skimpy hospital gown he’s handed, feeling more exposed today, in particular, than he ever has before — and he stares in silence at the bruises on his hips when he first catches sight of them in the mirror. 

“The best thing we can do,” Gotswana says as he looks over the x-rays, “is put you on some anesthetic and remove the blockage.” Kevin nods, white knuckle gripping the examination table to keep his hands from shaking and he finds himself studying the ceiling to keep tears at bay. “We’re going to take care of you, Elder Price.” Gotswana promises and Kevin wants to believe him, but he’s not entirely sure he can bring himself to believe in anyone or anything after the day he’s had.

* * *

An hour passes, maybe less. The last thing Kevin remembers is counting backwards from ten and his vision tunneling before he even got to five. There was a split second of anxiety, of wanting out, of wanting to rip the mask off but one of the nurses had gently caressed his cheek as the room went dark around him, his body giving way to the anesthesia — and he’d woken up, what felt like, seconds later. 

Almost immediately, Kevin finds himself in the middle of an uncontrollable breakdown, and just as quickly someone on Gotswana’s staff is at his side with tissues and bottled water, ready to console him. The last time he had cried this hard had been when he’d fallen off his bike in elementary school, unsupervised — road rash had torn up his knees and forearms, and gravel had imbedded itself into his palms as he wheeled his bike back to the garage, sobbing all the way. 

“Elder Price, is there anyone who can help you home?” Gotswana asks after his debriefing, once Kevin has calmed and had time to fully come around and process everything. Apparently, everything had gone well, evidenced by a soiled Book of Mormon in a ziplock bag. Kevin shakes his head in response. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone about what’s happened today and the Mission Hut is hardly a hike from Gotswana’s office. Not to mention the fact that he’s not exactly anyone’s favorite person right now. Why would anyone want to take time out of their day to help him? Now, with Arnold, they’re successful and flourishing and Kevin can’t even pretend to take any sort of credit because of how miserably he’s failed at the one thing he was supposed to be good at. 

* * *

Kevin walks home alone, again — mentally exhausted and this time 9,000 miles away from Salt Lake City. By now he’s dried his eyes and come to terms with the fact that he doesn’t want to acknowledge the day he’s had ever again. His body is racked by a dull pain and if a lion were to happen by right this very moment, like Nabulungi had once warned, he’d probably beg for it to take him. 

Nobody acknowledges Kevin when he limps through the door and he honestly can’t tell if the whole of District Nine is deliberately protesting his existence or if they genuinely didn’t notice his entering. After all, he’s returning past curfew and there’s no reason for anyone to wait up for him now that he’s made it routine. Kevin stops in the hall, quick to notice the uptick in baptisms. He and Arnold are supposed to be a pair, but he can’t claim any of the numbers listed next to their names. There’s a brief sinking feeling in his stomach and then everything’s coming back up and he’s clamoring into the bathroom to throw up what little he’d eaten throughout the day — his throat burning. The last time this had happened, this anxiety vomiting, had been before a church function years ago. His dad has yelled at him, told him to get over it and after that, every time Kevin felt like he was going to throw up, he just swallowed it and barreled through whatever it was he had to do. This time is different. This time there is no keeping any of it at bay. 

Reluctantly, Kevin lingers in the bathroom, unable to meet the eyes of his reflection in the mirror and anticipating a second wave of nausea. He tries to keep his mind blank, tries to study the failing hinges that are just barely securing the cabinet doors to the cabinet itself, and everytime his mind wanders he tries helplessly to distract himself. He tries counting, he tries singing the ABC’s in his head, he tries to remember the lyrics to his favorite songs, the best verses of scripture, anything to keep him from thinking about the dull pain that plagues his body or the bad taste in his mouth that water alone won’t wash away. 

Someone knocks at the door, pulling Kevin from his spiral, and wordlessly he excuses himself — inching past both Elders Zelder and Schrader as he slinks into the living room like a dog about to be reprimanded for tearing apart the trash again or stealing the roast from the counter. He hasn’t really done anything wrong, but he feels dirty and as though he’s being punished and he doesn’t know how to scrub those feelings away, so he sinks into the couch that’s since been abandoned as everyone’s now retired to bed. He bets Arnold sleeps easier now that he’s not lifting Kevin’s burden. 

Desperately, Kevin wills himself to stay awake, terrified of what hell dreams might come out of the day he’s had. Though, despite his best efforts, he can’t help but find himself both mentally and physically exhausted and in time, Kevin gives in to the pull of sleep. Naturally, hell dreams ensue and Kevin wakes the next morning well before the rest of his district with a piercing migraine that feels like his own body’s trying to force his eyes from his skull and maybe, he thinks, this is all just punishment for his bitching and moaning. 

Far removed from the Mormon he is _supposed_ to be, Kevin bites the bullet and accepts that the quickest way to fix his headache is to indulge in his religion’s forbidden fruit: caffeine. Not of the right mind to keep appearances, Kevin leaves the Mission Hut disheveled and in search of band aids to temporarily fix his long term problems.

* * *

Kimbay is by no stretch of anyone’s imagination a doctor, but she’s fairly certain that another round or two of coffee could stop Elder Price’s heart — but then again, who is she to turn away business? (And desperate business at that.)

“Hit me.” Kevin laments, slamming another hollowed cup onto her counter and she debates, briefly, answering his beck and call for monetary compensation. Instead, she smooths her hands across the counter, gripping its edges as she stares him down and Kevin, who’s a good eight or nine inches taller than her, shrinks into himself. “Please?” He squeaks and for someone who notoriously prides himself on appearances, Kimbay is quick to notice that Elder Price looks particularly rattled and out of sorts.

“No.” She replies decidedly and he sputters, clearly used to being handed things in life. “I’m cutting you off.”

“I’m paying.” Kevin insists, pushing his currency across the counter. She pushes it back.

“If this was alcohol, you would be dead.” She says simply, breaking eye contact to clear the counter. She waggles an empty cup at him for emphasis, “All of this caffeine might as well kill you.”

Kevin sighs, raking a hand through his disheveled hair and even though she’s cut him off, he’s not keen on leaving — hiding out until someone finds him, or he’s forced to go back to the Mission Hut. 

“What’s the matter with you?” She asks finally, nudging his elbows off the counter with a wet rag so she can wipe it down and Kevin makes a show of groaning, his wounds still fresh and his only distraction ripped away. “Fine.” She submits with a careless shrug, the way she would to any of her students — or even her own children when they’re being difficult, “Don’t tell me.”

Kevin holds strong for a while in silent perseverance and Kimbay pours him a glass of water. She sees Arnold approach before Kevin does and when she nods over his shoulder, Kevin expects the chair to swivel around with his body, realizing too late that it’s a standard stool. He winces as he stands to face his companion, pain streaking through his body. 

Arnold opens his mouth to talk, but Kevin beats him to the punch. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Super-Mormon!” He goads bitterly, “Spreading ‘the word’?! Making more brainwashed zombies?”

Kimbay watches as Arnold takes a step backward, taking in Kevin’s loosened tie and untucked shirt. “Elder Price,” He remarks, noting the Kafe sign, “what happened to you?” 

“I woke up, that’s what happened!” Kevin spits, bordering on hysterics. 

“Of course you woke up.” Arnold agrees, side-eyeing the stack of cups Kimbay had set aside in her cleaning. “You drank twelve cups of coffee.” 

Kevin seethes, nostrils flaring and Kimbay thinks she should intervene, but Elder Price could easily overtake her. “You tell me how it is, huh?” He demands waving his hands wildly, “How is it that you converted all those people into Mormons?” 

“I don’t know.” Arnold says earnestly. Then, more coy he adds, “Once I baptized Nutella, the others just fell into place.”

Kimbay scoffs behind the counter and she swears she hears Kevin emit a low, guttural growl. “You get everything you pray for!” He explodes, “You’re doing everything I was supposed to do! Doesn’t that seem a little telling to you?”

“Telling of what?” Arnold fights back and Kimbay’s impressed. She’s watched from afar for the past week as Arnold had taken everything Kevin had dished out and he’s perhaps the first person, besides herself, that has had the audacity to stand up to him.

“The universe doesn’t work the way we were told!” Kevin emphasizes, looking a bit like he could strangle Arnold. “When I was nine years old, my family took a trip to Orlando, Florida. It was the most wonderful, most magical place I had ever seen. I said to myself, ‘THIS is where I want to spend eternity.’ And my parents told me that if I made God proud, and did whatever the Church asked, that in the Latter Days I could have whatever I wanted. So I worked and I worked and even when I studied Mormon stories and I thought, ‘That doesn’t make any sense.’ I kept working! Because I was told that one day I would get my reward!” Kevin slumps back into his chair, downing the rest of the water Kimbay had supplied him. “But what do I have now? I can’t even get a ticket home.” 

Arnold fidgets, wringing his hands, clearly preoccupied. “Alright.” He says, whether he’s really acknowledged or sympathized with Kevin’s pain or not. “Look, the Mission President is coming, and if I’m without my mission companion, well, you know that looks very bad. So if you could just...” He gestures as if to get up and leave with him. 

“So that’s why you came.” Kevin accuses. 

“No!” Arnold refutes defensively, “I came because I care and because—“

“BULL POOP.” Kevin roars, jabbing an accusatory finger at Arnold. “That’s bull poop, Elder and you know it.” 

“I know we may not be the best companions.” Arnold tries to reason, brushing away Kevin’s finger, “But if we could just please act like we’re still together in front of the Mission President, you could get your ticket home and I could get my medal and we’d never have to speak to one another ever again.” 

“Fine.” Kevin caves, “But don’t talk to me and _don’t_ touch me.” 

“Fine.” Arnold shrugs easily enough. He turns to leave and Kevin makes no effort to follow as he swings back around to face Kimbay who raises an eyebrow in response. 

“Let it out.” She prompts, waving a hand for him to continue and at first he expels whatever anger and air he’d been holding in one giant exhale, but then — suddenly, he breaks into tears and she rounds the counter to rub soothing circles into his back. At first, he shakes off her touch before he finds himself leaning into it, gasping out sobs. 

She doesn’t keep track of how long he cries. It doesn’t matter. She fixes him up, doing up the top buttons of his shirt and tightening his tie, even doing her best to achieve that perfect and polished look his hair always has when she sees him about. “There is a lot you don’t know.” She hums, her hands smoothing over his shoulders and she lightly pinches his chin. 

She takes a step back, running her hands over her dress as she goes back to her space behind the counter — pouring another glass of water for Kevin. “Life is hard.” She sighs in agreement to the unspoken sentiment, “And maybe you were mislead, but there is good to you. I see it.” 

“I have zero baptisms.” Kevin laments, graciously taking the cup she’s poured as he wipes his eyes, “Which is the same number we had when I got here and now significantly less than everybody else.” 

“Not for lack of trying.” Kimbay points out. “You were expecting Orlando and got Kitguli.” 

“Kitguli’s beautiful.” Kevin tries to backtrack guiltily and Kimbay laughs in his face.

“Bullshit.” She waves him away, “I get it. You feel stuck. Kitguli is not wonderful or magical. It just is. There is a lot of sadness here.”

“That’s not true.” Kevin tries to protest. 

Kimbay raises an eyebrow, leaning against the counter to list Kitguli’s shortcomings. “I have AIDS. My husband was killed right in front of you. There is this stupid General.” Kevin winces and Kimbay takes his hand, “A lot is wrong, Elder Price, but it’s my life. There is sadness here, but I am not unhappy. Not completely. There is sadness in Orlando too.” 

“The grass is always greener on the other side.” Kevin nods and Kimbay nudges him with a gentle laugh. 

“What grass?” She teases, red dirt stretching for most of the small town. “There is not a lot to see here, but it’s not all bad. Just like you. You are not _all_ bad.”

Kevin huffs a laugh of disbelief but takes the compliment. 

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong.” She assures him, “But I will be here if you need someone to listen. Get to know Kitguli by its people, Kevin. And don’t hold back. Hasa diga eebowai.” 

Kevin lowers his head with a small laugh and a nod, “Hasa diga eebowai.” Sifting through his wallet on his way out, he folds an impressive tip into the tip jar. 

“Kevin.” Kimbay says, before he can leave. She gestures down the road, “Fuck him.” 

Kevin lifts an eyebrow in return. 

“Don’t let people use you.” She advises, tossing Kevin’s used cups into the trash as she talks. She puts a hand on her hip, waving a finger at him, “We have all made mistakes, you can grow from this. Make connections here.” 

Kevin nods shifting his weight, “Thank you.” 

“Come by class tomorrow morning if you need me.” She advises and Kevin hesitates, realizing now how impersonal he’s been — relying on phone calls and emails when all these people have to work with is personal, face-to-face connections. He finds himself nodding again, a silent promise to drop by.

* * *

Things only get worse, not just for Kevin, but for District Nine as a whole and somehow Kevin’s the one with the brilliant idea to overstay their welcome in Uganda after the Mission President excommunicates the whole of them from the Church thanks to Arnold’s compulsive lying. 

However, Kimbay’s proud to say that Kevin’s thrown himself into volunteering his time and help for her class, and disappointed to say that he drowns most of his problems in copious amounts of caffeine. She becomes his rock — his escape — and she begins to slowly realize that it is she, who he comes to when there’s smoke billowing out of his ears, or he’s on the verge of extravagant waterworks. “So?” She prompts as class lets out, Kevin already flipping stools onto desktops. “Let it out, before I let you drink your problems away.”

Kevin sighs, white knuckle gripping the legs of one of the stools. He’s really good about flipping a switch in front of the kids, effortlessly plastering on a smile and powering through his problems until the last child has made it out the door. “Elder McKinley won’t stop breathing down my neck. Everywhere I go it’s, ‘Are you okay, Elder Price?’” 

Kimbay folds her arms over her chest, throwing the question back into his face. “Are you okay, Elder Price?” 

“Yeah.” Kevin says with a dismissive huff, moving onto the next stool. “I’m fine.” 

Kimbay rolls her eyes following closely on his heels, “You and I both know you are lying.” 

“But he doesn’t need to know that.” Kevin snips with an aggressive, tightlipped smile as if to appease her by telling her she’s right; but also designed to keep her from being able to persuade him to let Connor in. Kimbay’s onto him and she won’t let him win. 

“How well do you know Elder McKinley?” Kimbay challenges gripping a stool leg as she watches him move about the class, “Have you taken my advice? Gotten to know anyone?” 

“I got to know you.” Kevin shrugs, “And Nabulungi and Mafala and Gotswana and Asmeret and the kids.”

“You don’t know any of the people you live with?” Kimbay challenges as they continue to tidy up. She’s the only one who can push all of his buttons and question him incessantly without backfire. 

“I know Arnold.” Kevin says weakly, proving her point. 

Kimbay tsks, “Elder McKinley cares for all of you very much and he worries — about you especially — when you run off and no one knows where you go.” 

“You know where I go.” Kevin shrugs plucking the broom from the corner of the class, “Isn’t that enough?” 

“And what if I am gone?” She refutes, “What if I am running errands or busy with the kids?” Kevin shrugs exaggeratedly, lacking a good excuse for his actions and she responds with a succinct nod. “That’s what I thought.”

They work in silence as Kevin sweeps the floor, stooping to brush debris into the dustpan — and Kimbay knows he’s processing. Kevin tends to shut down and rethink every word they’ve just exchanged only to come to a conclusion he’ll probably hem and haw over for a few solid minutes or so. That’s why he’s so prone to storming off. Sharing a space with eight other boys hasn’t given anyone the opportunity to get to know him well enough to know he needs a little bit of breathing room to deal with his problems; but Kimbay is different. Kimbay is patient. 

“What are you feeling?” She asks gently, rephrasing the question Connor had ambushed him with for the past week, and she watches as he shakes the pan into the trash. 

“I don’t know.” He says blankly, probably overthinking, but it’s abundantly clear that some of the tension has ebbed out of his shoulders with time. Kimbay is good with people, good with kids, good with Kevin and in time he tries to give her some sort of obliging descriptor, “I feel — I don’t know — annoyed? Misunderstood? Alone?” There’s a beat of silence. Then, “If I could just delete everyone’s first impression of me and start over again, maybe things wouldn’t be this hard.”

“First impressions can change, Kevin.” Kimbay assures him, “You just have to put in the work.”

Kevin huffs, shooting her another pointed look. Putting in the work is the exact opposite of what he wants. He wants easy. He wants a do-over without the extra time and dedication the situation so desperately requires. 

“Baby steps.” She suggests drawing the blinds and they leave it at that, Kevin holding the door for her on their way out. 

* * *

Kevin all but forces Kimbay to get creative the longer he dodges getting to know any of his fellow former-elders. 

“I don’t need your help today.” She shoos Kevin away, keeping post at the door of her classroom as kids duck under her arms to get inside. Kimbay, in no way, has the capability to physically impose herself over Kevin, but the look she gives him is enough to leave him sputtering out a whine on the front step, gesturing helplessly at the classroom behind her. “I volunteered your help elsewhere.” She says, waving him off, “Go find Mafala.” 

Kevin whines and begrudgingly, he obliges, turning back the way he’d come and heading back towards Nabulungi’s hut. Aside from the fact that Kimbay’s forcing him to step outside of the safety and comfort of her classroom, Kevin resents that he’s been left to fend off the village dogs alone. They’re not vicious, at least he doesn’t think, but they’re loud and they like to jump up on him and Kevin was always grateful to have a companion in Arnold at least for the fact that they seemed to leave him alone when Arnold was around. He’s not _not_ a dog person, he’s just not the right type of person for these dogs. 

“Please stop.” Kevin groans, trying to will the greyhounds to listen as they greet him with wet kisses and cheerful yips, tripping him up the closer he gets to the Mafala’s. 

“Kuume, Moja!” Elder Davis calls from the porch, whistling them back to the hut. He waves at Kevin and then more sternly he adds, “Kuacha ni!” Obediently, the dogs ease up, racing one another back to the porch. 

“It was nice of you to offer to help.” Elder Michaels says, scratching Kuume behind the ears as Kevin finally reaches the stairs. “I know you and Kimbay are busy with the kids.” 

Kevin stutters. He doesn’t know exactly what Kimbay signed him up to do, but he doesn’t want to ruin this idea of selflessness they’ve culminated about him. “Yeah, no problem.” He says instead, hoping it’ll suffice, “Just say the word and I’m there.” 

“It’s nice to see you Elder Price!” Mafala greets, joining Michaels and Davis on the porch as he shuts the door behind him. Expertly, Kevin dodges a hug, adverse to physical affection — or as a general rule, any physical contact — after his . . . run in. “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know.” Kevin shrugs. It’d be too long winded to explain his insomnia, and his caffeine addiction, and the recent bout of hell dreams he’s been facing, and his adversity to any sort of human affection, or the fact that he’s generally lost with the backbone of religion in his life, and oh yeah, he’s been assaulted — but he’s keeping that last part to himself. Overall, Kevin Price is not doing okay, and Elders Michaels and Davis are watching him warily as if he might explode — or maybe Kevin’s imposing that judgement onto them. He just doesn’t know anyone well enough to really gauge any of his interactions. 

There’s a beat and then Elder Michaels speaks up, quick to delegating tasks, “Elder Price, you’re with me. We need to go pick up some urea.” 

“What exactly are we doing?” Kevin asks, prying for answers the farther Michaels leads him away from the hut. 

“You didn’t sign up for this, did you?” Elder Michaels guesses, perceptive as ever. He’d make a good District Leader is Connor didn’t already fill that position. Michaels’ only problem is that he’s the oldest of the group and lacks the patience for, well, namely Kevin’s breakdowns. 

“Kimbay just told me to go to Mafala’s.” Kevin swallows. 

Michaels shrugs, indifferent. “We’re helping Mafala weed the maize crops.” He pauses so Kevin can keep up, “You and I are running into town to buy some urea to sprinkle around the base.”

“What’s urea?” Kevin needles, wrinkling his nose. He’s not averse to gardening, per se, but he’d rather not get his hands dirty if he can help it. Naturally this is just the kind of out-of-the-comfort-zone type activity Kimbay had spent so long trying to convince him to partake in. 

Besides him, Michaels shrugs, “It’s like Miracle-Gro, I don’t know. Davis and I and a couple of the other Elders have been helping Mafala weed for the past four-ish weeks and the stalks are about knee high by now.” 

“Knee-high by the Fourth of July.” Kevin muses, coming to an abrupt stop behind Michaels. “Why’re we stopping?”

“Because we’re taking the bike.” Elder Michaels gestures to Mafala’s worn motorbike and furiously Kevin shakes his head.

“Absolutely not.” He protests, “There is absolutely no way both of us are going to fit on that thing and I’m not— I refuse. Do you know how unsafe that is?” Might Kevin also add, he has no interest in the physical intimacy required to have both of them seated on the bike. 

“Well, I’m not walking.” Michaels says stubbornly and Kevin whines, seriously debating turning back towards the village and giving up for the day. “No.” Michaels puts his foot down, gesturing wildly at Kevin’s breakdown, “None of that. The world doesn’t revolve around you, Kevin. You’re going to have to man up and get on the fucking bike.” 

Part of Kevin, the old poster child for Mormonism part of Kevin, wants to reprimand Michaels for swearing, as if he, himself, hasn’t been abusing a plethora of cuss words since their excommunication. Instead, he pouts, biting the inside of his cheek. “Hasa diga eebowai.” He huffs and Michaels returns the sentiment as he settles onto the bike. There’s a fleeting moment of hesitation before, reluctantly, Kevin mounts the bike behind Michaels and wraps his arms around his torso. _‘Think happy thoughts.’_ Kevin tells himself.

* * *

Kevin loses track of time, but he and Michaels return to Mafala’s crops with a bag of urea and even despite the halting tension, Kevin has gotten over himself long enough to hold an assortment of conversations with Michaels — who clearly isn’t holding as much of a grudge about the whole bike situation as Kevin is. They’d talked family and Kevin had learned that back home Michaels is engaged and that every couple weeks he eagerly awaits a letter from his younger, deaf brother. Michaels teaches Kevin how to sign his name while they wait in line. 

“It looks nice.” Michaels praises upon their return, marveling at both the maize growth and the quick work Davis and Mafala had made of pulling weeds. 

“What else do you grow, Mafala?” Kevin pipes up, awkwardly holding the bag of urea until Michaels guides him into the crops. 

“Last year we lost our best farmer.” Mafala explains, “This year, everyone is pitching in with their own tiny gardens, and this will be my first time growing maize.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Kevin frowns, squatting to help Michaels disperse the urea without dirtying his dress slacks. 

Mafala waves a hand, “He was our best farmer, but he rejected modern farming. He was very old-fashioned that way, and I think my maize is taller than his would have been around this time, thanks to you boys.” 

“Anything we can do to help.” Davis smiles and Kevin wonders where he can get a share of his unwavering optimism and happy demeanor. Kevin notices the way he holds his back as he stands and Kevin worries briefly, having heard before that Davis had had surgery on his back a few years prior. Whatever look Kevin had given him, Davis has received plenty of times because he waves Kevin off. “You know, with the rods in my back I can sometimes get a sense of when it’s going to rain.” He offers an intriguing fact, to ease any worries. 

Mafala’s garden isn’t large by any means and with a little bit of teamwork they finish before dark. “Thank you so much!” Mafala says for what feels like the thousandth time as they finally part ways, “In a couple of weeks, I want you to take some of this home.” 

“Don’t worry,” Davis waves over his shoulder, “we’d love to.” And they set off back towards the Mission Hut, an air of accomplishment weighing on Kevin, and he’ll never admit it out loud, but he’s finally feeling the rewards of helping someone other than himself — the rewards he’d been searching for back when he thought he could bring Kitguli to salvation without help from anyone else and maybe now, he realizes, all he’d needed all along was to open himself to a little bit of teamwork. 

“You did good today.” Michaels comments as they walk back, the sun setting steadily behind them, and Kevin preens at the compliment. 

“Yeah,” Davis smiles, “thanks for coming out.”

Kevin shrugs, trying to play off just how much the positive attention means to him, “Many hands make light work.” 

They leave it at that and Kevin disappears before dinner; he wants time to revel in his good deed without the expectation that he’ll continue to exceed those expectations.

* * *

Kevin had (rather unrealistically) hoped that one good deed would magically change everyone’s first impressions, but after a particularly nasty spat between he and Elder Neeley, Kevin felt like he was right back where he started. And it hadn’t even been a good fight. It was nowhere near as rewarding as he and Jack duking it out back home, where Kevin, on a good day, could swing his parents in his favor. In Uganda, there were very few people on his side. 

Neeley’s first mistake was blatantly insulting Kevin to his face and his second mistake had been in thinking he could carelessly set a hand on Kevin’s shoulder to calm him before Kevin inevitably escalate the situation. If anyone were to catch Kevin at a bad time, he could easily take any given situation from 1 to 100 in seconds flat, and he’d done precisely that. 

“Don’t touch me.” Kevin had growled, swatting Neeley’s hand off his shoulder and keeping it held precariously between the two in the event he’d have to further fight him off. 

“Look, Price, all I’m saying is you can’t be such a baby all the time. We all got excommunicated, and you have to get over yourself sooner or later.” Neeley shoots back, holding his own hands up in a white-bellied surrender. 

Kevin grits his teeth, jabbing a finger into Neeley’s personal space without laying a hand on him. Sure, it’d stung when Michaels had told him to man-up, but that had been from a place of tough love. Neeley existed purely to push buttons, and Elder Thomas would back Kevin up on that. “It shows a lot about your character that you’re walking around calling people names.” Kevin replies, trying to hang on to a shred of civility

“I’m just telling the truth.” Neeley shrugs, looking for back-up. Surely, Kevin has to be out-numbered. 

Kevin growls again and if Connor hadn’t burst out of his bedroom and into the middle of the fight, Kevin would’ve been two seconds away from debating whether or not he should deck Neeley in the face. He’s had about enough of other people’s crap. “Break it up.” Connor says, pushing the two boys away from each other and Kevin just narrowly misses tripping over the corner of the couch to avoid having Connor’s hand square on his chest — truthfully, he’s also had more contact than he can bear for a day. 

“I was just leaving.” Kevin decides, gathering his bearings and storming out the front door like he’d been doing routinely for the past couple of weeks. He’s sure he’s escorted by a snotty quip from the likes of Neeley. 

“Elder Price!” Nabulungi squeaks, as Kevin almost barrels into her upon his exit. She holds up a piece of paper, “I was just bringing you a text.”

“I was just leaving.” Kevin repeats knowing she’d missed his earlier declaration as he gestures back to the Mission Hut — its door still banging against the frame due to the amount of unintentional force Kevin had used as he’d left. He’s sure they’ll need to replace it in the coming weeks if they continue on like this. 

“Oh.” Nabulungi nods, glancing at the hut behind him. She hands him the slip of paper, “And I was just coming to ask you if you wanted to hang out.”

Briefly, Kevin glances at the paper, before a thought dawns on him, “Naba, did Kimbay put you up to this?” 

“No! No, Arnold and I thought you looked a little sad lately.” She explains, pointing to the paper. She stands on her tip-toes, peering over the top of the paper as if she can cite the exact line for Kevin, even with the words upside down. “Elder Cunningham and I thought that maybe you needed a friend.” She explains, doe eyes looking up at him as she points to the paper, “I wanted to give you a chance, you know, to come back to the village and explain your Bible to us, but Arnold said that you were gone— that you requested a transfer.” 

“Well, Arnold lies sometimes.” 

Nabulungi laughs, “Arnold lies a lot, but that’s okay. _YOU_ were the one that decided to stay and help my village.” 

“Yeah, and now everyone hates me.” Kevin sighs, bitterly. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Nabulungi shakes her head, gently taking Kevin’s hands in hers. She can’t even begin to fathom or understand the negativity he allows himself to stew in. “Elder Price, you have done so much for Kimbay. Gotswana and Baba _love_ you, and Asmeret and the kids. You and the other elders have done so much for us, even without your Church!” 

Kevin’s uncomfortable with the contact, but Nabulungi’s touch is gentle and he doesn’t immediately pull away so as not to offend her. He shoulders the compliment easily enough, calming after his squabble with Neeley. “What did you want to do today?” He tries to change the subject, swallowing the fact that he’d rather be alone, just so he won’t have to hear from Kimbay about the wasted opportunity to get to better know his peers. 

Nabalungi squeals, happy to have persuaded Kevin to join she and Arnold, “We need three people to play Monopoly!” 

Kevin stifles a groan. In the Price household, Monopoly is notorious for ruining moods and tearing one another apart and if Kevin’s being completely honest with himself, and those around him, he’s a sore loser. Kevin’s never played a game of Monopoly where someone didn’t overturn the board. Though, in trying to embrace the can-do attitude Kimbay’s been trying to impose on him, Kevin tugs on a smile, “Let’s do it.”

* * *

“Does anyone own the Boardwalk?” Nabulungi hums, sitting cross legged on the front porch. Kevin and Arnold both shuffle for their cards. 

“No.” Arnold concludes with a frown, “But the Boardwalk card is missing.” 

Kevin estimates they’ve been playing for half an hour— but even getting to this point has been laborious. They’re missing cards and currency and Arnold had beat Kevin to being the scottie dog, so he’d been resigned to the iron after Naba had chosen the top hat. Kevin’s never _not_ been the scottie dog and he’ll contribute that to his losing. “Who owns Park Place?” He asks, quick to problem solve as he reaches for the notepad they’ve been using to make replacement cards, “Let’s just up everything by, like, $50.” 

Nabulungi looks down at the board, “So I have to pay $450?”

Kevin shakes his head, “No, it’s only $400, but we’ll owe you more if we land on it.” Nabulungi can get behind that winning strategy, even if Kevin hates himself for suggesting it once she’s built real estate on the space and he has to fork over $2,000. As they stumble haltingly through the game, Kevin grows increasingly frustrated and tired. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he rolls the die, landing himself back in jail for what feels like the umpteenth time. He rolls doubles a time or two too many when he doesn’t need to, and he can’t help but seem to roll doubles when he needs them most. 

“Oh, buddy, that sucks.” Arnold frowns, catching onto Kevin’s frustration. 

Kevin drops the die into his hand with a frustrated sigh, “Just go.” Eventually, they cave and give up, taking to chatting instead — the board remaining upright for the first time ever in Kevin’s Monopoly experience.

* * *

The weekend passes and Monday morning, Kevin is back at the doorstep of Kimbay’s classroom, hoping she won’t turn him away again. “Can I come in?” He asks tentatively, leaning up against the doorway after knocking to signify his presence, so as not to catch her by surprise. Enthusiastically, Kimbay waves him in. 

“How did it go with Mafala?” She inquires, busy moving around the classroom, taking chairs down from desktops to prepare for the school day. 

Kevin shrugs, jumping to help on the opposite side of the room, “Elder Michaels and I went and bought some urea for the maize and when we got back we started putting that down while Mafala and Elder Davis finished with the weeding. Mafala wants us to take some of the maize home when it’s ready to harvest.”

Kimbay nods, “And how were things with Elder Michaels?”

“Well, he made me get on a bike, which I did not want to do.” Kevin recounts, Kimbay shooting him a smug smile, “And he told me that I need to man-up, but it wasn’t all bad. We talked about our families while we were in line at the market. I didn’t know that he was engaged or that he had a deaf brother.” 

“Did you learn anything about Elder Davis?” Kimbay pries and Kevin shakes his head. 

“Not anything I didn’t already know, like he’s super nice and he had surgery to fix his scoliosis before he went into highschool, but he did say that sometimes he thinks he can feel the weather patterns in his rods and Mafala thought that was really cool.” Kevin explains, meeting Kimbay in the middle of the class. 

“I’m proud of you.” She says, sounding a bit like his mom and she gestures to her desk, “And I brought you a coffee.”

“I love you.” Kevin decides, practically jumping at the caffeine. He settles back against her desk, sipping cautiously at the hot beverage. “Although, if I’m being honest, I did get in a fight with Neeley, but then Arnold and Nabulungi invited me to hang out and I wasn’t going to go, but then I thought of you, and I was afraid of what you might do if I didn’t go.”

Kimbay grins again, priding herself in her influence on him, “Asmeret and Sadaka could use your help down at the river after class.”

Kevin knows better than to think Kimbay’s only making a mere suggestion, but rather an order and this time, he doesn’t fight it. “Okay.” He says, easily enough as he goes to wipe down the chalkboard. 

There’s a knock at the door and Elder Church sticks his head in, “Hey Kimbay, Kevin. Did you guys need any more help today? Elder Thomas and I were going to go into Kampala to grab the mail, but Elder McKinley left without us.” 

Kimbay gives Kevin a look, as if to recall an earlier conversation about wandering off alone; that’s why the Church enforced traveling in pairs. “We would love to have you.” She welcomes them in, out of the morning sun. The classroom isn’t luxurious by any means, but missionaries before District Nine had put at least a little bit of work into fixing the place up so that children didn’t have to cram together on benches, or sit out in the hot sun and dusty ground. 

“What’re we doing today, Mrs. Kimbay?” Elder Thomas asks, taking to sit on one of the desks as they wait for the kids to show up. Kevin had been a lot earlier than he’d anticipated, but he’d had a poor night’s sleep and was ready to get up and moving. 

Kimbay rolls her eyes, waving off the formality, “I thought today we’d do some English, History and Maths, and I promised the kids some time to play. They behaved really nice last week, even though Kevin wasn’t here.” Kevin preens at the subtlety of the compliment, he likes feeling that at the very least, at the end of the day, the students like him. 

Church settles into a chair that’s just a little too small for both he and Kevin’s tall frames as they wait. “Are you gonna go to college to become a teacher?” He asks Kevin, catching him off guard. Kevin has a recent habit of assuming he’s the last person anyone’s trying to talk to, unless they’re in his face.

Kevin shakes his head, “I don’t know. I thought I was going to BYU, but that’s not gonna fly when I get back, so I’ll have to apply elsewhere. I thought I wanted to be a pediatric nurse. You?” 

“I’ve always wanted to be a teacher, but I think I’m gonna aim more towards high school.” Church answers and Kimbay laughs. 

“Good luck getting anyone that old to listen to you.” She says, “The young ones aren’t as quick to rebellion.”

“Did you always want to be a teacher, Kimbay?” Elder Thomas asks and she stops to think on it. 

“I don’t know what else I would do.” She says in earnest, “I like my kids. Most of the time.”

They laugh and everyone turns to Elder Thomas with expectant eyes. “Oh no,” He says, waving away the attention, “I don’t want to be a teacher. I’m certainly not going to BYU anymore either, but I was thinking something more along the lines of a therapist.” 

Kimbay smiles, letting out a small laugh, “I guess we will all have difficulty getting people to listen to us.” 

The first kids shuffle in and Kimbay greets them, everyone moving towards the door to get the day going. Kevin stands with his hands in his pockets, among Elders Church and Thomas. “Good Morning Afiya,” He greets, “Good Morning Mirembe, I like your shirt.”

“It’s the Bulls.” Mirembe displays his jersey proudly and Kevin smiles as Mirembe heads in. 

“Did you play any highschool sports?” Elder Thomas asks and Kevin snorts.

“God, no."

“Chris played basketball.” Elder Church grins, beating Elder Thomas to the punch. 

“You?” Kevin asks, notably glancing down at the shorter elder. “Were you any good?”

“Varsity, all four years.” Chris says proudly and Kevin nods, impressed. More students shuffle in as they chat, some full of life and others just waking up before they all turn in to teach. Having extra hands in the classroom only helps, freeing up Kimbay’s time to teach as Kevin, Chris and James tackle helping kids who’re having trouble grasping certain concepts and checking over work. 

When the school day wraps up, Kimbay sidles up beside Kevin. “Don’t forget to go down by the river.” Dutifully, Kevin nods and she waves him off, Chris and James helping to clean up the classroom once all the children have cleared.

* * *

Kevin heads down to the river, pushing through the shrubbery to the riverbank, just like Kimbay had directed.

“Elder Price!” Asmeret cheers, wading through the water at the river’s edge to greet Kevin. She opens her arms for a hug and reluctantly, Kevin obliges, meeting her halfway through his comfort zone with a side hug. 

“How’re you?” He asks, gently kissing her cheek in greeting and waving to Sadaka and Elders Zelder and Schrader. 

“We’re good.” She says, “Better now that you are here. I thought I told Kimbay to tell you to bring your washing.” 

Kevin shakes his head, “I had no idea, but I’m here to help. Where do you need me?” 

“Take off your shoes!” Sadaka calls from the water, waving him in. Kevin obliges, stooping at the riverbank to take off his shoes and socks, rolling his pant legs up as high as they’ll go before he joins her. Truthfully, Kevin hadn’t ever been the one to do his washing over the past few weeks, Zelder and Schrader taking batches down to the riverbank to clean with Sadaka and Asmeret. 

“What do I do?” He asks, wading into the water, finding it to be warmer than he’d anticipated. 

“We put our dirty clothes in the soapy bucket here.” Sadaka explains, “And when the process is done, they go in this bucket.” 

Kevin glances at Zelder and Schrader, effortlessly going through the motions as they talk. Asmeret joins he and Sadaka, pulling from the bucket of dirty clothes. “We have to massage them against the rocks like this.” She explains, “We want to get all the stains out."

Kevin does as he’s told, Sadaka stepping in to show him a better technique and he fixes the way he’d been doing things to accommodate. When he’s done, he passes it onto Asmeret and they repeat the process as she finishes up that article of clothing — plenty more left in the bucket. 

“It’s nice to see you around more, Elder Price.” Asmeret commends, “Nice to know Kimbay doesn’t keep you all to herself.” 

Kevin smiles politely and they continue on, washing until the sun starts to set and they’ve finished the clothes. Kevin feels accomplished in the fact that at the very least, over the past few weeks he’s made conversation with nearly everyone. Maybe now, Kimbay will get off his back.

* * *

At the end of the day, Kevin realizes that maybe everything Kimbay’s both asked him to do and forced him to partake in, has built not only character — but stronger relationships with those around him. At the very least, he feels seen in the community; for both good and bad things, but he no longer feels outcast or completely and rather unjustly hated. 

Connor comes to him, again, in the middle of the night with the same question that Kevin felt halted every conversation he’d had up until now, “Are you okay, Elder Price?” And maybe he’d always been too afraid to answer, because Connor and Kimbay had only ever been the ones who dare to ask. 

“I don’t know.” He sighs, glancing across the room and through the thinly veiled darkness. Connor fumbles for the light and a glass of water. Though, in answering the question now, Kevin doesn’t feel as unsure as when he’d first answered Kimbay. He doesn’t feel annoyed, or misunderstood, or alone. He feels he’s finally created the bases of new first impressions that can only be built upon from here on out. He knows his next step lies in opening up to other people and allowing them to understand them. 

Connor dawdles at the counter, unsure if Kevin’s reply is an invitation, “Is that good or bad?” 

Decidedly, Kevin lays everything out for Connor and his District Leader is more than willing to listen. Kevin starts at the beginning, at Orlando and life at home and the pressures he’d carried due to his image in the Church. He explains every rash decision he’s made in Uganda, from walking out the second night, to walking into the General’s camp and while it takes more courage, he notes that he’d been assaulted and that it was Kimbay who was first able to draw him out of his shell little by little. He explains every social exercise, from farming with Michaels, Davis and Mafala, to doing the washing with Sadaka, Asmeret, Zelder and Schrader. He details stepping out of his comfort zone and spending time with Nabulungi and Arnold, despite his squabble with Neeley and how Elders Church and Thomas had helped around the classroom earlier in the morning. 

And Connor listens. To all of it. He doesn’t interrupt or criticize and Kevin feels most understood by his District Leader who offers tissues when needed and a gentle squeeze of the hand after asking Kevin if he’d be okay with that. “Kevin,” He says, “I don’t know what to say.”

Kevin shakes his head, “You don’t have to say anything. You listened and that’s all I’ve wanted, really.” 

“Please know that I never hated you.” Connor says, and maybe he’s saying it to make himself feel better after Kevin had just bore his soul and told him exactly the kind of energy he’d been getting from the District, but Kevin doesn’t mind the reassurance. “You’ve been difficult at times, sure, but we’ve all been worried. We all notice that you’ve been sleeping on the couch and there’s been a buzz around the Mission Hut about how lively and involved you’ve been lately.” 

“Thanks to Kimbay.” Kevin huffs a laugh, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but I feel like I’ve been going all week and my social battery is just absolutely depleted.” 

Connor nods in understanding. “Hey, taking baby steps is progress.” He says, echoing Kimbay and Kevin finds himself in agreement, even if he’d pushed against the idea at first. “We’d love to see your face at dinner more often.” 

Kevin accepts the invitation, “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Truth be told, I've never done much friendship exploring, so this was new to me! I had a hard time trying to decide between strengthening one friendship or displaying a multitude of budding friendships and I chose the latter. 
> 
> I hope you liked it and Happy Holidays!
> 
> Kudos & Comments appreciated <3
> 
> @afterafternoons (on Twitter and Tumblr)


End file.
